


Have You Tried Icing It? (Not You, Too, Barry)

by saruma_aki



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Angst, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Bad Flirting, Emotional Baggage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone Is Gay, Hurt Leonard Snart, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Lewis Snart's A+ Parenting, M/M, Metahuman Leonard Snart, Metahuman Mick Rory, Metahumans, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Resolved Sexual Tension, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, oh the timeskips rip, powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-07-28 21:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7657948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saruma_aki/pseuds/saruma_aki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[ON HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE; sorry]</p><p>Six males are put in the mountains  and have to live with each other while performing weekly tasks given to them by the show hosts—and simultaneously trying not to drown in the sea of UST courtesy of a certain speedster and a pun wielding snowflake. There is lots of gayness (like, none of them are straight; sorry, not sorry) and a lot of pining—and arguments.</p><p>They seriously need to get their shit together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He Was An Adult, Dammit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thundersnow (pieprincess_andthe_fallenangel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pieprincess_andthe_fallenangel/gifts).



> I want to thank Ellie because this would never have actually left its folder if it wasn't for her. You're terrific!
> 
> Alright—hey, guys!
> 
> Okay, so this a project I started a while back thanks to some gorgeous posts on Instagram. It inspired a reality tv show AU that has been the bane—and sole purpose—of my existence for a good while (it literally got entirely re-written with a completely different plot), but I finally got it done and I'm really excited to finally be posting it.
> 
> Enjoy!

The day the world changed had him swimming in a sea of darkness.

When he resurfaced, things were different.

He remembered coming to the day he became part of the new world. It was like waking up from a restless sleep—like those ones where you fall asleep, but wake up exhausted anyway. His eyes moved first, rolling under his eyelids as his functions slowly kicked back into working order. Next it was his head, lolling to the side uselessly when he tried to move it. Then his fingers and toes, twitching sporadically, and the movement spread up his arms and legs until he was able to roll over onto his side and push himself up to sit.

He blinked blearily, eyes adjusting to the light in the room as his lips parted in a heavy yawn that left his mouth feeling dry and his limbs like lead. Rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands, he took a look around the room, brain coming online enough to inform him that this was not his bedroom.

Now, five months later, he was sitting in his lab at the Central City Police Department, riffling through his files hurriedly with the knowledge that Captain Singh would be there soon with need of his information.

And he couldn’t remember where he put the damn file.

Fuck his life.

Letting out a frustrated groan that tore through him rather loudly, making him cringe at the volume, he sped about the room, only managing to find what he was looking for seconds before the door opened.

“Barry—”

“I got it, I got it,” he gasped, file clutched in his hand tightly as he gazed at the person in front of him, hardly taking notice of the fact that several papers were floating down behind him from the whirlwind his movements caused.

Joe stood before him instead of the expected Captain Singh and there was a small disapproving frown on his face, though the amused glint in his eyes soothed his worries that Joe was actually mad about something—that something having something to do with Barry.

“Uh,” he tried to lean casually on the white board next to him, nearly falling as it rolled away under his weight, and he winced as it crashed into the wall, “what’d you need?” Barry couldn’t stop the nervous laugh from escaping him as he looked over at Joe, his eyes briefly taking in the mess that was his lab and thinking of how much trouble he’d be in if it was Captain Singh that had opened the door.

“There’s someone here to see you.” The man stated while reaching out to take the file from Barry’s grasp, ignoring the male’s confused look.

“Who’s here to see me?”

Joe shrugged his shoulders, clapping his hand down onto the nape of Barry’s neck and giving a small squeeze. “Beats me, but try to be nice. He seems kind.” With that he was ushering a man in, clad in a suit and holding a briefcase in one hand, a tablet tucked under his arm while his other hand was stuck out to shake his in greeting. “I’ll run this down to Singh, okay?”

Barry nodded distractedly, accepting the hand shake with a nervous and mildly confused smile. “Hi.”

“Hello, Mr. Allen, my name is Rip Hunter. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You, too,” Barry spoke, voice going higher at the end of his response making it sound more like a question than a statement and he tried not grimace at how rude that probably sounded.

“Well, you’re probably confused as to why I’m here, so I’ll try to get to the point.” The man walked further into the lab and Barry’s face flushed as he took in the full extent of the mess in there. “Busy night?” the question was friendly, a small jest, but all Barry could muster up was sheepish laugh, quickly speeding about to put things in some semblance of order, trying to stop his cheeks from flushing and failing.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbled, embarrassed because he worked for the CCPD, dammit. He should be more organized than this. He met Rip’s eyes only to see the other man staring at him in some sort of wonderment and he blinked in confusion before realizing what he had done. “Oh,” he squeaked out meekly as he stumbled back a few paces, barely managing to flail and smack a seat under him before he fell backwards, landing on the cushioned surface with a small ‘oof’.

“No, don’t get like that,” Rip immediately interrupted as Barry slowly spiraled down into the chaos of his mind, wondering what he was going to do. He didn’t want people to think of him as dangerous—he wasn’t. He perked up, though at the words, turning confused eyes to the man who had an accent which Barry was hesitant to say was British, but it sounded similar enough.

He was crap at identifying accents, though. Iris could testify to that.

“But,” his arms wind-milled, expression distraught, “I just did that and I shouldn’t have and,” he trailed off, scrubbing his hands over his face as he let out another groan.

When he had woken up five months ago after a nine month long coma, it was to ‘powers’ of sorts. Apparently the science experiment of the particle accelerator managed to affect some humans in several different ways in Central City.

He had been gifted super-speed, apparently the lightning he got struck by somehow gave him it, the ability to go at speeds beyond human capacity even going so far as to let him go through objects or even travel through time—which scared the crap out of him because how was he supposed to know when he was going that fast?

He remembered the pain, the rush of electricity through his body setting his nerve endings on fire before the darkness washed over him as his back made contact with the table and then the floor.

Joe had told him that a lot of the people who had ‘come to’ with new abilities were using them for nefarious purposes—which was just a dramatic way of saying they weren’t doing very good things, but Barry was pretty sure Joe just wanted to drive the point in. Because of that, Barry was to keep it as quiet as possible. He could use his abilities, but with the light that these new people were painted in and the fear they ignited in the civilian population, it was better not to instigate hate towards himself.

Barry could see the logic in it, so he had done as told and kept it as much on the down low as he possibly could. Everyone at the station knew, of course, using his help to capture the others who were using their powers wrongly. The CCPD had also teamed up with STAR Labs to create cells for the enhanced criminals in Iron Heights where they could be securely locked up.

“I’m here because of your abilities, Mr. Allen,” Rip stated as he sat in an available seat, setting his briefcase down as he began clicking away on his tablet, all the while letting out a steady stream of words. “I am one of the hosts to a reality television show called Mountainside,” he turned the tablet to Barry, holding it out to him and he accepted it curiously. “We’re very successful and we’ve had six seasons of the show already aired, the sixth going on right now.”

“Okay,” Barry slowly drew out the word, scrolling through the words written before him.

“Our show is simply to take six males or females—we alternate—and put them in a well furnished house in the mountains and have them complete weekly tasks for the duration of two months.” Rip eyed Barry carefully, making sure he understood what he was saying. “We’ve been searching for the next six contestants and we came here to Central City. Here it was brought to our attention that there are some ‘special’ people—people with abilities.”

Barry nodded his head; setting the tablet in his lap and looking up to meet Rip’s eyes. “People like me?”

“And people not like you,” Rip added, leaning forward. “People like you are labeled as dangerous because people with the same abilities, but not the same control or good heart, take advantage of their new powers to do evil.” Rip waited till Barry nodded before continuing. “We want to help paint people like you in a new light. Not all of you are bad, but the majority of you are fearful to be yourselves because everyone else would react negatively.”

It sounded like Joe’s analysis.

“So, you want me to be on your show?”

“Yes, to help us help others like you so that you can all let your abilities show without feeling scared.”

Barry blinked, looked down at the tablet in his lap and bit his bottom lip. “How long do I have to decide?”

“Take the week to think it over.” Rip stood up, Barry quickly following suit and handing the tablet back with a small smile. “Here is the contract,” Rip said and Barry blinked, not even knowing when the man had managed to pull that out of his briefcase without Barry noticing. “Look it over. It’s perfectly fine to say no—I understand some people like their privacy. If you do say yes, though, we’ll talk about the contract in more detail then, such as limits you have and all that juicy stuff.” The man shot him a warm grin.

“Right,” Barry mumbled, flipping through the pages quickly, wondering what he was going to do. “Um, thank you for the offer. I’ll let you know if it’s a yes or no—is there a number I can call?”

Rip jerked before fishing into the pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a small little cardholder and pulling one out. “That’s my number; feel free to give me a call whenever, though please not at a ridiculous hour or between two to three in the afternoon as that’s when I’m most likely meeting with other potential contestants.”

Barry nodded and bid the man good-bye before slumping against the closed door, staring at the windows in a daze as he slowly stumbled back to the chair, dropping the contract and the card on his desk before burying his face in his hands to bemoan his entire existence.

Joe was going to have a good laugh at this.

Barry was wrong.

Joe didn’t laugh.

Apparently the offer turned out to be a very serious ordeal that had to be carefully considered from every angle and whatnot, something which Barry had spent the remainder of his day doing before presenting it to Joe over dinner.

Iris was out with Eddie and Barry was mildly grateful for that. The last thing he needed was her getting involved into another thing that wasn’t really her concern. He loved her, but sometimes her butting in did nothing but annoy him—and he guessed that happened with most siblings.

Sitting at the table with Joe, highlighting pieces of the contract that either he or Barry felt were important, writing down questions where they had them, they let their meal grow cold while they worked—which was a waste because Barry had really been craving Chinese.

“Do you want to do this, Barry?” Joe asked, finally, closing the contract and looking over at the speedster whose gaze was firmly fixed on the packet lying faced own on the table, some of the ink from the highlighters bleeding through slightly.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, leaning back and groaning as he slumped down in his seat with a small frown marring his features, arms crossed over his chest as he ran through everything in his head.

“Barry,” Joe murmured, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder and Barry tried not to snort at that because while he appreciated the gesture, it didn’t help him figure anything out. “Why do you not want to? Let’s start with that.”

Barry shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I guess because I’ll be living with strangers, it’s two months. It’s in the mountains, in winter. Like, I looked up some videos—it’s not in the forest part, though the forest is close. It’s like open land on a mountain side.”

“So, you’re worried about it being on a mountain?”

“And the living with people I’ve never met—that’s a big one,” a small grin lit up Barry’s face at Joe’s exasperated expression.

“Barry, you could run to civilization faster than anyone else in that house probably, so the mountain isn’t a concern of yours,” Joe pointed out, waiting for Barry to nod before continuing. “And living with other people is always hard, but isn’t that the point of the show? It’s not just completing tasks, it’s also letting people observe your dynamic. And with this season they want to show that people like you, with these abilities, are human.”

Barry nodded his head once more, hands clasped tightly in front of his face, elbows resting on the table as he leant forward.

“Now, stop tapping your foot before your wear a hole in the floor,” Joe grumbled as he moved to pop both of their plates in the microwave to heat up again. Barry couldn’t help but smile, relaxing a bit, silently reminding himself that he still had a week.

He had a week.

And that week flew by and Barry was stuck sitting in his lab jittery and nervous as he looked down at the card pinched tightly between his fingers.

He had thought about it long hard, gone over everything with Joe almost biblically. Iris still didn’t know, but he could tell her later, though he had a feeling she was going to be mad at him for not telling her sooner.

Sighing, he checked the clock, saw it read eleven o’clock in the morning and picked up his phone, tapping the number in quickly before he could change his mind. It rang a few times and Barry considered hanging up but then a voice was answering and it was too late to turn back.

“Hello, this is Rip Hunter. To whom am I speaking to?”

Barry breathed in deeply, shaking slightly as he flicked the card between his fingers. “Hi, Mr. Hunter,” his voice went up again at the end, making it sound more like a question than a statement. He seriously needed to stop doing that. “It’s Barry Allen. You came to see me a week ago?”

“Mr. Allen—thanks for calling me. I was scared you wouldn’t for a moment,” the man admitted and he sounded so relieved that it made Barry feel a bit better, the card being rubbed between his fingers absentmindedly. “Did you think it over?”

“I did,” Barry mumbled, setting the card down gently on his desk as he leaned back in his chair, gaze fixing itself on the ceiling. Why was this so hard? It should be easy, he’s an adult. “I’ll do it,” he breathed and once words were out it was like a wave of relief washed over him, calm suddenly taking over as he slid down in his seat like all his energy had been sucked out.

“Really,” Rip asked; his voice excited and Barry hummed in response, smiling goofily himself, nearly drunk off the relief. “That’s wonderful. Where would you like to meet to discuss the contract?”

The meeting was fine. Joe had accompanied Barry, seeing as how Joe was better versed in the legalities of it than Barry, seeing as how his main concern was in the labs and not out fighting crime and attending court cases.

Barry sighed in relief once they were at home, flopping himself down on the couch and rubbing his hands over his eyes tiredly. “Why did I agree to this?” Barry grumbled, flailing about in his seat in an attempt to get comfortable, huffing as he ended up with his face buried in the cushions, one leg dangling off the couch, the other elevated behind him on the arm rest, his right arm thrown over the back of the couch and his left hanging off the side with his leg.

“Hey, it was your choice,” Joe chuckled as he made his way to the kitchen after hanging up his coat, laughing as he caught Barry’s glare from the corner of his eye.

“I had good reasons for saying no,” he grumbled, twisting so that he was on his back, staring at the ceiling and he noted with a slight bit of amusement and exasperation that he had been doing that a lot lately.

“And yet you said yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapters are always a bit slow, so sorry about that. My humor isn't the best either, I know. I hope you guys enjoyed it anyway. The story will pick up as we get further into it, I promise.
> 
> Update will be weekly, apparently every Tuesday, so look forward to it.
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Let me know what you guys thought!


	2. Drowning In UST (Wrong Couple, Barry)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't say I'm completely happy with this chapter, but I've re-written it so many time I don't think I'll ever be truly satisfied with it. My main goal was to get them moving and to establish the camaraderie between Hartley, Leonard, and Mick while also introducing all the characters. Hopefully I managed well enough.
> 
> Enjoy!

They were picked up on a bus from the airport where they were supposed to be meeting. It was a large bus, a traveling one with those really comfy seats and plugs for your electronics and internet. It was exciting, in a way.

However, it was also four in the morning which wasn’t as exciting.

Barry had gone to bed rather early the night before, knowing he would have to be up early for this and not wanting to sleep on the bus ride when he could be conversing with the others on the show, but taking a look around himself, he could tell only one person really seemed awake and he was wrapped up tight in a parka, suitcase firmly plastered to his leg.

It was like the guy thought someone would steal it.

Not an unlikely thing, but the blatant show of distrust unsettled Barry a bit. Typically people would just rest a hand on the handle of their luggage casually, if it was high enough, or have their knee brushing it slightly so that they would feel it if it was suddenly not there. This man, though, had his suitcase practically glued to his side, the handle hidden under the length of his parka, and his eyes were constantly flitting about.

It was like watching an animal.

Turning his eyes away, he took in the others.

There was a dark male who looked about to topple over in exhaustion, his eyes drooping shut, his body bent over a fairly large suitcase, headphones plugged in his ears. If Barry listened a bit harder, he could make out the blare of music, though he couldn’t make out the words.

There was another man, built like a truck and wearing a seriously grim expression, his hands tucked in his pockets. Barry could see the man looked fairly irritated, if the twitch in his eye was anything to go by—though it could just as easily be a muscle spasm.

Sighing, he looked at the other two.

One of the two remaining was pale, glasses perched on the end of his nose and piercing blue eyes focused on his phone, fingers flying over the screen while the rest of him was stock still, most of his weight supported on his left leg, his hip jutted out slightly.

The remaining male was probably the one that would need someone to wake him up when the bus arrived as he was already gone, slumped against a pillar, his bag beside him but not held close. His eyes were close, breathing slowly, and Barry decided that he officially would not be able to determine what kinds of people these were until they were all more fully awake.

The bus arrived after a few minutes, at which point the guy that had been leaning on the pillar, sound asleep, had managed to wake himself up by nearly falling over. Barry had snorted out a laugh at that, though he had instantly felt bad afterwards because you weren’t supposed to laugh at the misfortune of others.

The group sleepily clambered onto the bus, the guy in the parka automatically taking the first seat in the front. The guy with the muscles sat across from him. The male on his phone sat behind the one in the parka, probably not even taking a look around at his surroundings. The dark skinned male stumbled a few seats away before practically falling face first into a seat, releasing an obscene sound in result and practically falling asleep almost immediately.

Barry concluded pretty solidly that the guy was not a morning person.

The guy who had been on the pillar slumped into a seat a good three seats away from the guy with glasses, his eyes fluttering shut as his head rolled to lean against the window. Barry sighed, plopping himself in the seat across from the dark skinned male, letting his own eyes slip shut.

A bit of shut eye might do him some good, he concluded as he slowly dropped off the cliff of consciousness into the depths of dream land.

 

 

 

Hartley wondered why he decided to come on the show.

He was pretty sure it was in a moment of desperation, not knowing what to do with his life after coming out to his parents and then proceeding to get disowned by them. And then he had gotten fired from his job to top it off.

It had been an overall shitty year where he was just furiously trying to get his life together and failing miserably. He had considered telling his parents his coming out was a joke, that he wasn’t really gay, but that would have been an insult to himself. Besides, he had come out for a reason and he refused to be shoved back into the proverbial closet.

Sitting where he was, though, on a bus surrounded by five people he had never met before in his life, he honestly wondered if he made the right choice. This was five other men and experience showed that they would all be straight and think less of him for his sexuality and constantly talk about girls or something like that.

This had been a horrible idea.

“You have got to be kidding me,” a voice grumbled and his head shot up, his eyes immediately scanning for the source of the noise and they landed on the back of the seat in front of me. Shifting in his seat to peer over the top, he saw a male clad in a parka scowling down at his phone. On the screen there was a display of a girl, her fingers held up in a peace sign.

It looked like she was at a club.

“I’m gone for three hours. Those places shouldn’t even be open yet,” the male grumbled, tucking his phone away and it was only then that he met Hartley’s eyes. Blue met blue and they just sort of stared at each other for a bit.

“Are you two done staring into each others’ eyes or do you need me to leave you two alone for a moment?”

Both of their heads snapped over to look at the other male in the immediate vicinity. He was built and while Hartley enjoyed his fair share of muscular men, he liked brains more than brawn. Not to say that the man before them wasn’t smart, but he didn’t give off that sort of vibe.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, slowly sinking down into his seat.

“Why were you looking?”

And it was surprisingly amusing to watch deep blue eyes set in an olive toned face pop over the edge of the seat, looking down at him curiously. The male looked like he could read everything about you in a single glance—like a modern and American version of Sherlock Holmes—and yet he was asking such an innocent question, kneeling in his seat, his fingers curled in the cushions to keep himself stable.

“I heard you talk. I got curious.”

The male nodded, lips pressing together like he had just determined something rather important. “Right,” the male stated before he disappeared and Hartley heard him shuffling around and he cursed his own awkwardness.

He needed to have at least one friend in the house.

“What do you do?” The man from before asked and when he lifted his eyes from his phone, which was clutched tightly in his curled fingers, it was to see the muscular man and the man in the parka both looking at him.

“What do you mean?”

“You were affected by the blast, same as all of us. So, what do you do?”

Hartley shrugged, looking down at his hands. “Sound waves,” he responded and both men seemed interested at the admission.

“Can you control the frequency?”

He nodded. Both of them seemed delighted at the news, though they both kept their reactions controlled.

“Leonard Snart,” the one in the parka introduced himself.

“Mick Rory,” the muscular one followed up with, shooting him a slight grin. He looked inviting enough.

“Hartley Rathaway.” He tried not to cringe at the sound of his own last name, tried not to remember how it wasn’t technically his anymore. He tried and he failed, his dilemma probably showing clearly on his face if he was to go by the frowns both men wore.

“Kindred spirits,” Leonard offered, the corners of his lips twitching before he was turning to settle back into his seat, Mick following his example and settling into his seat a bit more.

They left Hartley alone with his thoughts, the memory of both of their wry grins imprinted in his mind as he tried to figure out what Leonard meant by kindred spirits.

The words somehow calmed him, though.

 

 

 

Upon arriving at the house they were to be staying at, the bus parked securely outside, they all clambered off, looking about them. It was cooler up in the mountains than it had been at the airport and the shock of cold seemed to completely awaken those who had been sleeping on the ride, Barry included.

The house was large, two stories, and homey looking. They had all been assured that it was completely safe, but Barry couldn’t help but wonder if they were truly.

“Damn, this is real,” he heard someone mutter from beside him and looked over to see the dark skinned male staring at the house in some form of awe, headphones looped around his neck, leading a trail down to his pocket.

The corners of his lips quirked up and he grabbed a hold of his suitcase and began tugging it behind him as they all moved in.

Moments later found Barry feeling more awkward than he had in his entire life, his fingers nervously fidgeting in his lap, eyes flicking about him, going over every face to see the emotions playing across everyone else.

They were all sitting in the living room, silence reigning over them as they stared at each other in silence. It was awkward—more than awkward. The silence was stifling, suffocating even.

Barry took in every single face in front of him, feeling his muscles tense more as the seconds ticked by.

It was so quiet he could hear someone’s watch ticking.

“Okay, wow, this is super awkward,” the male next to him broke the ice, smile bright but hesitant as he clapped his hands together.

“Well, clearly we can count on you to point out the obvious,” another male drawled and Barry’s eyes flicked to him, taking in the square, but stylish, glasses perched up on his nose, his posture relaxed, looking bored.

The guy next to him seemed unperturbed by the comment, though his eyes bored into the blue ones of the guy across from him. Barry worried mildly if they would be dealing with a constantly bickering pair or a pair of horny males. Either or seemed just as scary and he wondered if it could end up being both.

The thought made him shudder.

“Let’s go around and introduce ourselves, okay?”

Barry watched the two male’s stare at each other and sincerely hoped they wouldn’t be stuck swimming in sexual tension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was shorter than the last chapter.
> 
> I know it's slow going, but the story will pick up soon--probably. The next chapter is from Len's perspective, so there's that.
> 
> See you all next Tuesday!
> 
> Kudos are much appreciated and please don't be afraid to tell me your thoughts, predictions, things you might want to see happen--all that jazz.


	3. Freeze, You Villainous Emotions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favorite chapter because I love writing Len, but if you've seen my other coldflash works, you'll know I don't actually write from his perspective too often. He's a fun character and I had a good time writing this chapter and his interactions with others.
> 
> I wasn't sure, though, of how this chapter would fit in to the bulk of the story, so I apologize if it feels mildly out of place. I tried my best. I warned you about all the time jumps, though, so don't get mad at me.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Warning, I suppose: This chapter contains hints of past child abuse and references to some affects it can have on people, especially those who had to endure it as long as Len did.

The ticking of the clock went to the beat of his heart—one quiet tick for one earth shattering pound against his ribcage; his breath rushing in and out of him at quiet intervals as he drew himself to awareness slowly.

His eyes slowly fluttered open as his body registered the flood of emotions coursing through him that his unconscious mind hadn’t, each one falling over itself like the crashing waves of the ocean— _chaotic_. And once they were all identified, he set to work shutting each and every one down like faucets. His eyes stayed focused upwards as he worked, his face slack but hard as stone, expression blank.

Drawing himself further into the locked box in his chest, he shoved any bit of uncontrolled emotion inside, sealing it shut until the next onslaught of memories assaulted him.

He breathed for a few moments, his fingers and toes twitching just slightly as a phantom itch began at his lower back, a silent prompt from his body to move before full blown restlessness set in. The back of his head hurt mildly from where it was resting against something hard and immovable—definitely not a pillow.

Shoving himself up into a sitting position, he nearly jerked as he took in where he was, but managed to still the motion before it began, eyes widening just a hair. The sky was clouded over and the air was probably cold, but he didn’t feel it. In fact, he felt refreshed, relieved even, as he drew in a deep lungful of air, stretching sleep idle muscles before bringing himself to his feet.

Judging from the barely visible position of the sun, just over the horizon, it was near dawn, probably four or five in the morning. Groaning mentally, he scrubbed his hands over his face, moving to the edge of the roof and trying to figure out how the hell he had gotten up there. He was fairly certain he had fallen asleep in the bed, though unfamiliar as it was.

Poking his head over the edge of the roof, it was to meet eyes with his roommate for the duration for the show.

“Sleep well?” was the gruff question asked, the man’s voice thick with sleep and Leonard raised an eyebrow, taking a look at the side of the house, the edge of the roof and the position of the window. “How’d you even get up there?” the man muttered as his head disappeared and he couldn’t help but smirk idly, shifting so that he could swing himself down in through the open window.

He was asking himself the same thing.

Landing on the floor with hardly a sound, a skill learned after years with his father— _don’t think of it; don’t think of it_ —he straightened, stretching his arms over his head as he walked over to his bed, tugging his suitcase out from under it.

“Did you see me leave?” he couldn’t help but ask, pulling out a change of clothes as he moved over to the attached bathroom, throwing his towel over the mirror blindly as he closed the door behind him. He could hear Mick shuffling about on the other side.

“No,” the man grumbled, yawning promptly afterwards and Leonard heard a quiet disgusted snort, the vague mutter of ‘hate morning breath’ as he quickly slipped out of his sleep clothes, folding them and setting them on the toilet lid and stepping into the shower.

The water was cold against his skin and he hardly felt it, not even bothering to touch the knob for the hot water as he set about cleaning himself off, his eyes firmly fixed on the wall, his hands never maintaining too much contact with his skin. He ignored the bumps under his fingers as he scrubbed at his chest and legs, his back and arms.

_Don’t think of it, don’t think of it._

Washing his face he quickly stepped under the spray, letting the water wash away the remnants of his dream and the soap, letting it swirl down the drain between his feet.

_Don’t look down, dammit._

Shutting off the water, he blinked away the drops clinging to his eyelashes as he dried his face with a small towel before quickly drying himself off with the larger one, turning his back on the mirror. Eyes firmly fixed on the wall as he dressed quickly, he tugged the turtle neck over his head and pulled his arms through, pulling on his jeans, ignoring the scrape of the denim against his flesh, the slight prickle of not so smooth skin.

He’d have to shave soon.

Tilting his head down, taking in the threads of fabric making up his shirt, he quickly spread his toothpaste on his toothbrush, quickly getting to work on brushing his teeth, one hand braced on the edge of the sink.

The seconds ticked by in his head, the ticking of a clock that his heart beat in tandem with.

Spitting, the taste of bile rising in his throat, he quickly scraped his tongue, erasing the taste and replacing it with mint as he then rinsed off his toothbrush. Rinsing his mouth, he kept his eyes down as he spit, washing away the liquid before shutting off the faucet.

He hated the bathroom.

Tugging on his socks, he quickly moved out of the bathroom, not once looking back as he hooked his towels on the hangers on the back of the door right next to where Mick’s went. Mick headed into the bathroom as soon as Leonard vacated it, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Moving to his bed, he placed his clothes at the foot of it, smoothing the sheets down and stretching them so that it looked exactly as the day he had arrived, not a wrinkle in sight. His suitcase was safely situated back under his bed, his toiletries and sleep clothes securely tucked inside.

“You’re a bit of a neat freak, aren’t you?” Mick asked as he came out, steam following in a cloud as the door of the bathroom was left open. Leonard promptly opened the window once more, tying the curtains to the side.

“Not particularly. Just in foreign places,” he mumbled quietly, adjusting his shirt as he bent down to retrieve his boots from the foot of his bed and tugging them on.

“Let me guess, even when you know the place, it’s still everythin’ has a place and there’s no movin’ it?”

Leonard shrugged, doing up the laces with practiced ease, keeping his eyes on his fingers, watching the measured method of his movements. “I like knowing where things are.”

“Habit,” the man muttered and Leonard heard rustling, looking up to see the man tugging on his coat. His brow furrowed, knowing the man’s words to be true, but wondering how he read that off of him.

_Kindred spirits…_

There was a likeness between him and Mick, one he couldn’t deny. Maybe it was shared experiences or just similar personalities. For all they seemed similar, though, they were very different and yet—they just clicked. It was like two gears matching together and beginning to turn, like a well oiled machine.

He guessed it was because they were both observant, in their own way. Mick’s was less obvious, his brash behavior seeming to overshadow it while Leonard’s showed clear as day as he stared at everyone, made note of their emotions and personality, habits and impulses.

Mick had scared him at first glance, not because of his build, but because of his heat. The temperature of his skin, the fire of his temper, the burning emotions—it scared him. But Mick—Mick wasn’t like that. Leonard knew to be wary of his temper, knew that being wary of everyone was best, but Mick was about as dangerous as a heating pad.

“You goin’ on a walk?”

Leonard nodded, tugging his parka on, the one he hardly ever went anywhere without, his gloves sliding onto his hands easily. “Are you coming?”

“That was the plan,” the man replied and Leonard paused at the door, waiting for the man to get his boots tied before heading out, walking down the stairs quietly as they headed to the front door. The cameraman wasn’t up yet, so they quietly snuck around him, stepping out finally into the cool air of dawn.

The fresh smell of the wilderness, far from the pollution of the city, nearly burned Leonard’s lungs as he moved down the path, Mick at his side.

Odd how it was only a problem now and not when he had woken up on the roof.

He found it mildly phenomenal how they seemed to fall into a rather easy camaraderie, walking side by side in a companionable silence, their steps sounding on the ground to a steady beat they had somehow fallen into together.

“Any idea why you were on the roof?” Mick asked after a few minutes, the house hardly visible from how far they had gone and Leonard shrugged, keeping his eyes forward. His skin itched with the remnants of the dream, but he fought the urge to shrink into his parka, to tuck his nose under the collar of the turtleneck, to pull his sleeves over his palms until only his fingertips were visible and maybe not even that.

“My guess is because of the heat.”

“You don’t react well to it?”

“Not especially,” he drawled, tilting his head up to prevent himself from scrunching inwards, fixing deep blue on the pale sky above, painted a grey white that seemed as bland as the food he used to eat and as bright as the hospital walls.

_Don’t think about it, don’t think about it._

Fingers twitching just slightly, he cursed inwardly as he closed his eyes, head falling forward, shoulders hunching up just the slightest bit, but even that small bit provided enough comfort to settle his nerves.

“Should we switch rooms?”

Leonard shrugged, not especially liking the idea, but it was dangerous to sleep on the roof, out in the open. It was never good to be exposed, to be _vulnerable_ , laid open and raw.

“Give it another night. We’ll see. I’ll let Rathaway know, just in case.”

Mick nodded his head and that was that. They continued to walk in silence, Len steadily curling into the warmth of his parka, warmth he could feel all too much, but it was also so faint, hardly an inconvenience.

“What do you think about?” Leonard spoke, finally being the one to break the silence, his gloved hands now tucked in his pockets, his head facing forwards, eyes trained on what the next step was bringing, where to move his feet, how to move in the next few seconds.

“Fire, mostly,” the man responded and Leonard caught sight of a small bit of shifting inside the man’s pocket where his hands were also tucked. Judging from the answer, he safely assumed that the man had his fingers wrapped around a lighter. It was probably like a safety blanket to him.

Something like Leonard used to have, but no longer. That was now in another’s hands, someone trustworthy.

“Bit of a pyromaniac?” he mumbled and the man shrugged, a small grin pulling at his lips that Leonard only caught sight of from the corner of his eyes and his own lips twitched slightly in response.

“It’s beautiful,” the man admitted and Leonard nodded his head. While he wasn’t too big of a fan of fire, he could see the beauty in it, not enough so to be obsessed with it, but fire made up this man’s being, so in a way it was understandable.

The walk back to the house was quiet, filled with only quiet breaths and the crunch of their feet on the ground. When they entered the house, it was to be met by Hartley standing in the kitchen, fingers wrapped around a cup of what Leonard could see was tea, if he went by the still open bag of fresh leaves behind Hartley and the teaspoon balanced on the edge of the sink on the counter.

“Have a nice walk?”

Leonard shot the male a smile, pulling off his parka and hanging it on the coat rack, unlacing his boots alongside Mick and safely tucking them on the shoe rack before walking further into the house. It was still early, though the cameraman was awake and had his camera set on his shoulder, filming away.

He felt slightly bad for the man.

“You should come next time,” Leonard offered, feeling a bit of happiness leak from the tightly sealed box inside of him at the small smile Hartley gave him, the light pink dusting the male’s cheeks.

He reminded him so much of Lisa, his innocent little sister. The way she used to smile when they were young, before his father got his hands on her that one day Leonard wasn’t there to protect her like he was supposed to.

_Don’t think about it, don’t think about it._

“Maybe next time; I was finishing up something.” He motioned to the computer lying on the counter and Leonard nodded, walking to the fridge and pulling out a securely unopened water bottle, cracking open the lid and taking a long swig. Mick went about making himself a cup of coffee, scowling at the packages of coffee beans until he found one that satisfied his tastes.

“They don’t make this stuff strong enough here,” Mick muttered as he went about making his Colombian coffee, muttering praises about it under his breath with a quiet grin. Leonard couldn’t help but roll his eyes, though there was a small bit of fondness creeping in his heart, a feeling he tried to put an end to, but he knew he’d fail.

“What were you working on?” He asked, instead, turning his eyes to Hartley who had moved to sit at the island, clicking at something on his computer.

“Updates,” Hartley responded, turning his computer to show Leonard and he stared at it, trying not to let the despair suddenly clawing at his insides get to him as he struggled to understand the words in front of him, his jaw tightening minutely.

“Fix that piece, there,” Leonard muttered after a second, pointing at a part on the screen and he watched Hartley look at it before frowning slightly, quickly clicking away.

“Thanks,” the male said once he was done, turning around to smile at Leonard and he tried to not show how much that one word relaxed him. Years of struggling to teach his little sister the material being taught at regular schools despite having been pulled out school after the seventh grade, failing all his classes severely because learning was hard, became fresh in his mind and he pushed the memories away.

He knew why learning had been hard. He was lucky he was as persistent as he was.

“It’s for my gloves. They help concentrate the waves,” Hartley explained as he saved the document before turning in his chair to face Leonard seriously. “How’d you find that mistake?”

Leonard shrugged, sipping his water as he sat down. “It didn’t fit. For the kind of compression you needed there, the wiring there didn’t match,” Leonard explained. “I like blueprints,” he added, like that would explain it all as he finished up his water, closing the bottle before placing it in the plastic bag he had set aside for the plastic bottles specifically.

Why would he put it in recycling when he could go recycle them at the store and get money in return? Five cents per bottle could save a life, plus it was good for the planet—recycling and all.

Turning his attention back to Hartley, he ignored the memory of Mick’s gruff voice earlier that morning, the rough mutter of ‘habit’ that echoed through his head, and saw the male with his brow furrowed, lips pursed thoughtfully.

“Did you understand it?”

Leonard blinked, swallowed before shrugging his shoulders. “In a way,” he stated, avoiding saying explicitly that he hadn’t. It was hard to explain how his mind worked. He wasn’t quite sure how it worked either.

Hartley shook his head slightly, smiling. “Amazing,” he muttered and Mick came over, slurping his coffee with a content hum, not a drop of sugar in the drink and there was still a lot of steam rising from it.

“What’s amazing?”

“What he just did,” Hartley stated, turning his gaze to the computer before looking back at Leonard who was now completely confused. Reading blueprints was something he learned from his dad. There was nothing amazing about it. “Even trained professionals take awhile to notice something like that. I’m a genius and even it takes me a bit to spot those things.”

“So modest,” Mick snorted, though his lips were tugged into a slight grin from where they were wrapped around the rim of his mug.

“It was just logical,” Leonard muttered, rummaging through the fridge for something to make. “Mini crepes okay?” he asked as he pulled out the milk and strawberries and setting them on the counter.

The two chorused their responses of confirmation and he set about cooking, trying to ignore how much it reminded him of his precious little sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Feel free to leave me some kudos and don't be afraid to comment your thoughts down below! I'd love to know what you guys think and any ideas you might have.
> 
> Till next Tuesday!


	4. Ready, Aim, Fire (Or Don't, Your Choice)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be completely honest.
> 
> I pulled this chapter out of thin air, I had no idea where I was going with it when I started. It was a complete mess, but I just didn't know how to start to hint at the animosity that will develop (and later fade away) between Len and Barry.
> 
> This was the only way that I managed to write it with it feeling somewhat normal (even though it's still kind of meh). I apologize for this chapter; I wish it was better, but I tried re-writing it multiple times and this was the best version I ended up with.
> 
> (Also, I'm pretty sure there's very light science in this chapter and it's kind of not very good because I'm definitely not a scientist. I'm sorry. It's brief, though.)

It had been three days after they arrived that the first task finally came. It was Monday and Barry was lounging on the couch in the living room, flicking through channels when Cisco suddenly called out for them all to come to the living room.

“We have mail,” he announced, waving the envelope around and there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs and quiet murmurs. The door to the confession room opened, Isaiah stumbling out and Barry put the television on mute as he turned his attention to Cisco.

“What’s it say?” Mick grunted as he dropped into one of the arm chairs, Snart leaning against the side. Hartley was looking over Cisco’s shoulder as he opened the letter while Isaiah ambled over to the couch and sat next to Barry.

Barry liked Isaiah. He was pretty certain everyone liked Isaiah. The man was pretty calm with everything, a go with the flow kind of guy, and he was nice to everyone.

“It’s always good to have a mediator, you know?” had been what the dark skinned male had said when Barry had asked in passing.

It was a good enough reasoning, he figured, and let it be rather easily. He appreciated it, in a way.

“Our first task,” Cisco all but squealed and his excitement about the show was sort of addictive. Barry knew the guy was genuinely interested in what the show had to offer. A chance to change peoples’ views on them; it was a great opportunity. “It says that we get to go to a shooting range,” Cisco read, eyes flitting over the paper. “We get to shoot guns!”

“I guess they want to start us off with a _bang_ ,” Snart snorted, shaking his head slightly and Barry’s face pulled into a grimace at the pun.

He had initially held out hope that Snart wouldn’t make too many puns after the first day where he had dropped one on them rather casually and they had all kind of balked at him. After three days, though, he had come to accept that wherever Snart went, a bad pun followed.

“There are other, far more appealing, ways to do that,” Hartley quipped and Barry nearly fell over because he did not just add to that.

Nope, his ears were deceiving him.

He refused to believe he heard that.

But looking at Cisco’s suddenly red face and the amused smirk on Snart’s lips, the loud guffaw of Isaiah and Mick’s seemingly proud snort, he knew that denial was futile.

He needed to invest in duct tape. And fast.

He was pretty sure that Snart and Hartley would both rip him a new one if he did.

The shooting range wasn’t all that bad. It was clean, cement walls boxing them in. Each cubicle was separated by a sheet of rubber like glass—Barry was pretty sure it was supposed to be bullet proof, but he wasn’t sure.

The man went through how to load a gun up, how to take off the safety. The cameraman seemed actually hesitant to film them doing this.

“If they want to make us seem human, why are they making us shoot guns?” Isaiah muttered as he watched the man’s movement. Mick shrugged from next to him and Barry sighed softly.

He didn’t understand it either, to be completely honest.

They each received a gun, thankfully none of them loaded, and were lead to their own three walled cubicle to load up and shoot the targets.

“I kind of hate this tradition,” Snart muttered from the cubicle next to Barry and he watched the man put on earplugs before putting on the noise muffling headphones. The man was seriously prepared.

“Tradition,” Barry couldn’t help but ask, looking over at him curiously.

Snart looked over at him, face blank, a fact that irked Barry to no end. Expression was important for communication and yet this guy showed about as much expression as a rock.

No, wait, he had probably seen more variation in looks in a rock than he did with Snart. And it had been three days—dammit.

“Every season they have a shooting task,” Snart responded before he was picking up his gun and loading it up like he had done it numerous times before. Barry could only look on with a kind of muted sense of horror.

 

 

 

It was unsettling to have the familiar weight of a gun in his hand once more, his fingers moving with a skin dog ease he absolutely detested. He made sure to have his gloves on, though his parka was discarded next to him.

He didn’t want the touch of metal on his skin, the familiar bite. He didn’t want the memories the feeling coaxed out.

He could feel eyes on him, but he didn’t focus on them as he pulled on the goggles before then raising the gun with one hand, turning off the safety and firing three rounds, watching the holes appear on the target.

_“Always keep your hand steady; if you’re off by even the slightest bit—well, that man could be the end of you.”_

The next few shots went by without him even registering the sound, his mind swirling in a flush of memories, finger moving on its own. He didn’t register the kick of the gun, his shoulder constantly jerking back just the slightest bit.

_“You don’t fire a gun with your heart. You fire it with your brain.”_

He only stopped when he had exhausted bullets, his vision swimming back into focus to take in the target. Holes decorated every vital part of the human anatomy. One bullet at each location could have a person dead in two minutes and less.

“Wow,” he heard breathed as he tugged off the headphones, setting them down and pulling out his earplugs. The instructor took the headphones and the offered gun, completely unloaded, along with the goggles.

“I’ll be outside,” he grunted, grabbing his parka and tugging it on harshly before quickly walking from the room, just barely keeping his composure until he was outside of the room, slumping against the wall and curling into himself.

He knew the cameraman was probably filming him, but he didn’t care, tugging up the hood of his parka and burying himself into it.

After all the years that had passed, the man still had a hold on him. Grunting in annoyance, he took in a shuddering breath, eyes fixed on the floor, attempting to calm himself down, his hands only just starting to shake.

He knew he shouldn’t have picked up the gun, knew he should have walked out.

He had specified in his contract that he could veto doing anything that could trigger him and yet here he was, struggling to keep his cool—ha—after walking into something he had a feeling wouldn’t be good for his mental state.

 

 

 

Barry watched the people around him shoot their guns.

The cameraman looked even more terrified, the instructor as well, as they watched.

Isaiah’s aim wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t the best either, some bullets not even hitting the target. Cisco appeared to be having the same problem, though he was suffering a bit more with the kick of the gun than aim.

Mick managed to somehow shoot a perfectly straight line from the targets groin to his head. It made Barry shudder. Hartley wasn’t having too much trouble, his aim rather nice, though he took his time with every shot, seeming to be calculating trajectory and angles and a lot of other stuff people normally didn’t think about when shooting a gun.

Barry looked at his own target, cocking his head to the side as he fingered the gun. He worked for the CCPD—he knew how to fire one.

But, then again, his work was mainly in the lab, but in cases of emergency Joe had taught him how to use one.

Loading the gun up in a second flat, he aimed and fired, watching the bullet as it cut through the air, like in slow motion. The way it rotated in the air, like a screwdriver. The way it tore through the paper, blunt, twisting pressure on the point of focus before it was tearing through, leaving a hole behind.

It was just as horrifying as when he had watched Snart fire it.

Ever since he got his speed, Barry hadn’t needed to fire a gun—had hardly even seen one fired except for that one time, but it had been dark and it hadn’t been aimed at him—and watching what a bullet did to a target, what it did to a person.

It was horrifying.

And watching one be fired with frightening accuracy and a sort of ease that only a seasoned warrior should posses, something that Snart was not because they did background checks on everyone on the show and there was no way they would let a murderer live with them, was mildly terrifying.

Every bullet that tore through the target was like one being shot at him. He could feel the phantom pains radiating from each spot. He could only imagine what it would actually feel like to have a bullet cut through you.

It terrified him.

He didn’t have to worry about it, his speed would save him, but Joe and Iris—he swallowed thickly, firing off a few more rounds until the gun was empty before he put the gun down, flicking the safety back on.

When he walked out of his cubicle, he noticed that Cisco was done and quickly walked over.

He and Cisco had easily built a friendship, Cisco being one of the workers in STAR Labs that made the cells for the ‘gifted’ humans. The fact that their two jobs worked together and their shared love for science, they had struck up conversation easily.

Barry could see himself continuing the friendship even after the show.

“I don’t think shooting is for me,” Cisco laughed once Barry was standing next to him, rolling his probably aching shoulders. “You did pretty well,” he added and Barry shrugged, a sheepish smile pulling at his lips.

“I can see the bullets moving, so it’s kind of cheating,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked out of the room with Cisco at his side. Snart was leaning against the wall with Isaiah, both of them merely staring at the ground, though they seemed to be having a quiet—really quiet—conversation, if the slight moving of Isaiah’s lips at random intervals and the way he was leaned closer to Snart was anything to go by.

“How does that work?”

“I think my optic nerves and the receiving of information in my brain works faster as well and I process the movement like it’s in slow motion.”

“Like those really cool scenes in movies?”

Barry nodded and Cisco practically squealed.

“You have got to let me run some tests on you once we’re off this show. That is amazing,” he breathed, brown eyes wide with awe and Barry flushed in embarrassment, fingers carding through his hair nervously.

Mick and Hartley came out of the room then, Mick looking oddly delighted and Hartley looking like he was thinking hard about something.

Barry watched Mick and Hartley stop by Snart, Mick looking at the man for a silent moment before asking quietly in his gruff voice, “habit?”

Snart lifted his head, looked at Mick for a moment like Mick had him before responding with “lesson,” like that somehow explained everything.

It apparently did for Mick, though, because he nodded his head before turning to look at Hartley. “Stop thinking so hard,” he grumbled, though, unless Barry was hearing things, there seemed to be a hint of fondness coloring his words.

“How’d you guys do?” Hartley asked, looking over at Cisco and Barry, both of them jerking to attention at being addressed.

“Okay, I guess. I hate the kick, though,” Cisco grumbled, rolling his shoulder as if to demonstrate his pain. Hartley’s brow furrowed, following the movement with ice blue eyes shielded behind his glasses.

“There’s a stance to minimize the push. Didn’t you do it?” Hartley’s frown looked haughty, though it could just have been his face, his lips twisting slightly into what might have been a concerned expression or a sneer. Barry couldn’t really tell the difference and, apparently, neither could Cisco and the brunette automatically assumed it was bad.

“At least I didn’t take forever,” Cisco muttered and Hartley blinked at him slowly before he turned his back on them, frown still firmly in place. Snart immediately began talking to the male about gloves—or something like that.

Barry sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands tiredly.

Snart glared at them over Hartley’s shoulder.

Barry couldn’t help but glare right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, this chapter was so flat and kind of all over the place.
> 
> I'm sorry. I tried, I really did.
> 
> Anyway, please feel free to leave me some kudos. The next chapter will hopefully be better.
> 
> Comments are always loved and appreciated, so don't be scared to write me your thoughts.
> 
> Till next Tuesday!


	5. Where's A Hole When You Need One?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is chapter five. That's it. It has some more interaction between Barry and Leonard. Enjoy!

The house was silent, a complete opposite of the sound of muffled shots from the shooting range. It had been weird, holding a gun. He had never touched one before that day and the weight of the weapon had been foreign in his hand, the kick a complete shock when it forced his shoulder back and his grip to falter.

It felt like finality, grasping it in your hand.

It felt like being the executioner and having to pull the lever, watch as the floor gave out and the noose pulled tight.

It made him slightly sick to his stomach.

“I don’t know how everyone else felt,” he admitted, fingers lacing and pressing tight, feeling the way the pressure forced them to shake minutely. “I didn’t like it, not really. I mean,” he sighed, tilting his head slightly to stare at the ceiling, contemplating how to phrase what he wanted to say, “it was like confirming what everyone thinks of people like us. And I didn’t like it, because we’re not dangerous. We’re human like everyone else.”

Sighing, he let himself lounge on the couch for a few moments longer before he was hauling himself up, stretching his arms above his head and letting out a groan as his shoulders popped, and exiting the confession room, closing the door softly behind him.

“Feel better now?” was drawled from the couch in the living room and he strolled closer to see Leonard lounged on the couch, legs hooked over the back of the couch, book propped open on his chest and his neck twisted at an angle that couldn’t possibly be comfortable, but Snart seemed to feel just fine in it, flipping the page and continuing to read.

“I guess,” he muttered, flopping down on the recliner and pulling the lever, pushing the seat to lie down.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just the beginning, remember?” Leonard stated calmly, eyes turning to the next page of his book before flicking his eyes up to meet Isaiah’s. “Mick’s in the kitchen cooking. Make sure he doesn’t burn everything down. I don’t think he’s using the oven.”

“Shit—why is he alone?”

“He’s a good cook,” Snart simply stated offhandedly before returning his full attention back to his book, calmly continuing to peruse the words with his eyes while Isaiah flailed his way off of the recliner and made his way to the kitchen.

Indeed, Mick wasn’t using the stove or over, simply standing there with a metal tray lined with round little balls of meat while his hand hovered over them, a ball of flame emitting from his palm, the hand holding up the tray also emitting fire and spreading so that the flames licked the side of the pan.

“That’s dangerous!”

“Only dangerous if I mess up,” Mick grunted conversationally as he shifted his hand over the meatballs, making sure to spread the flames evenly, and it was weird how it was kind of sweet. “Len send you in here?”

“Yeah,” Isaiah mumbled, watching as the man handled the tray with care, “said to make sure you didn’t burn the place down.”

“More like he doesn’t want his food burnt,” Mick snorted and it was odd, in a way, to see the slightly fondness in the crinkles of Mick’s eyes, or the way he was sort of smiling, though the flames really didn’t allow Isaiah to see the expression too clearly.

“You’re making him meatballs?”

“Makin’ them for everyone, really, but Lenny there is a vegetarian, so I’m makin’ his separate.”

“That’s nice of you,” Isaiah stated simply, smiling and Mick cocked an eyebrow at him.

“More like I like my limbs and we can’t have anyone dyin’ on the show,” and there was a little grin playing on his lips, Isaiah was certain of that, so he merely laughed, returning the grin with a bright one of his own.

 

 

 

 

“Food,” Len called as he walked down the hallway, knocking on the doors to rouse everyone from their little havens. His stomach was tight with hunger, though it managed not to growl, though that was probably more because of all the water he had been drinking up to Mick being done preparing the food.

Quickly descending the stairs once he had gotten confirmation from everyone that they would be down soon, he went to the dining room, plopping down at the seat Mick indicated and folding his hands in his lap.

“Why are you vegetarian?” Isaiah asked from where he was sitting as they waited for the other three to come down and join them. “Did you just decide to be it? Or is it for health reasons?”

He narrowed his eyes at the dark skinned male, not sure how he felt about being questioned about his life decisions, but seeing the honest curiosity on his face and the fact that Mick looked ready to make Isaiah shut up regardless of how nice the kid was, he relented, sighing softly and crossing his arms over his chest as Hartley came down the stairs, sliding into the seat next to Len.

“Meat was expensive. I never bought it when I was younger, so I never got the taste for it.”

Isaiah nodded, seeming to realize he stepped on the delicate line of things that were okay to ask and pry for and things that weren’t.

“Do you do the whole organic thing, too?”

Len nodded his head and Isaiah bobbed his head as well, looking like he had just been bestowed some kind of great wisdom. Leonard didn’t really know if he was amused or not.

 

 

 

 

Mick watched everyone eating, watching how Barry eagerly consumed his—the one with the most meatballs because of Barry’s wicked fast metabolism and Mick was glad he listened to Leonard on that one—and how Cisco looked at his plate in mild suspicion before devouring down everything on it. Isaiah was happily humming around every bite while Hartley was eating his own neatly, but he looked content and happy with the taste. Leonard was cutting his food in half, picking at it and Mick couldn’t help but wince in sympathy mentally.

_Habit,_ his mind supplied rather unhelpfully.

Leonard did the exact opposite Mick used to do. While Mick used to eat the food in front of him and glare death at anyone who dared come close to him and his food, Leonard put half of his food to the side as if with the intention of sharing it.

“I hope you’re eatin’ all of that.”

Leonard blinked and looked at him then down at his plate, a slight frown marring his features and it made Mick want to pat the guy on the back.

He hadn’t even realized he’d been doing it.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Mick raised an eyebrow at him and Len raised one back, both of them staring at each other challengingly.

“You’re not moving from this table till you finish all of it,” Mick instructed and both of Leonard’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and then narrowed in challenge.

Mick grinned before turning his attention to the table at whole again while diving into his own meatballs.

Barry was looking at them weirdly, eyes narrowing when they focused on Len and a frown automatically creased Mick’s expression. He was pretty sure there had been no confrontation between the two, but maybe it had happened in the middle of the night or something—yeah, when Len sleepwalked onto the roof or something.

They really needed to get around to switching their rooms before Leonard actually hurt himself in his sleep trying to scramble away from the heat. It was fine when they were awake, Mick could control it then, but he couldn’t in his sleep.

“Have you asked to switch rooms, yet?” Mick asked around a meatball, already plunging his fork into the next one. Leonard looked up mid-chew, finishing his bite and swallowing before speaking.

“Not yet. He was doing his design earlier.”

Mick wasn’t sure what drew him to Leonard to be completely honest. The first day on the bus, he saw what most people saw, he supposed. He had seen a cold and calculating man who could analyze you in three seconds flat and have you backed into a corner.

Leonard was the exact kind of person Mick typically steered away from.

And then the male had opened his mouth and they had talked, just that brief conversation with the Rathaway kid and he had realized that while clearly Leonard was a calculating person, there was more to him. And the darkness in his eyes that mirrored what Mick felt in his heart a bit drew him closer.

‘ _Kindred spirits’_ had been what Leonard had said when they had talked and Mick could see the truth in his words, could see how they were similar.

And that scared him, in a way, to have something in common with the very kind of person he typically steered away from. But Leonard wasn’t a bad guy; a bit distant, but he didn’t seem bad. If anything he was kind of nice, in a standoffish, quiet sort of way.

 

 

 

Barry ate his dinner pleasantly, conversing with Cisco warmly, although his eyes kept wandering to the others at the table. His eyes kept straying to where Snart sat, cutting his meatballs—which didn’t really look like meat—and talking to Mick quietly.

He didn’t understand their easy friendship at all.

Then, Mick was turning his attention to Isaiah when he spoke up and they were conversing while Snart turned his attentions to Hartley whose eyes were, oddly enough, on Cisco.

Barry sighed inwardly.

He pretty sure those two hated each other at this point and he sincerely didn’t want to deal with that. He knew Isaiah would happily be a mediator should a fight ever come up, but Hartley’s sound wave thing he had going on was something hard to get past, considering the fact that he could turn it on you in a heartbeat.

Barry didn’t really know what Leonard’s ability was. He knew it was ice, or something like it, but he didn’t actually know how it worked—the mechanics of it seemed like they would be fascinating, but after the glare from the other day, Barry was hesitant to get close and ask.

The male was cold, in every sense of the word. His presence was chilling, both temperature wise and body language wise. The man was usually wrapped up in his parka or covered in long sleeves and long pants. Sometimes the guy even wore gloves in doors.

“Do you need a freeze frame there, Scarlet?”

He felt his cheeks heat up, a perfect representation of the nickname he now knew would be permanent if Snart’s grin was anything to go by.

“More puns?” Cisco groaned from next to him and Barry took the distraction to tear his eyes from the smirking man to his friend who was pouting and frowning at Leonard—which inevitably forced him to return his gaze to that direction.

“I was thinking,” he grumbled, stabbing at his meatball like it had personally insulted him, like it was personally at fault for the fact that Barry apparently had to look at the object of his thoughts while thinking of said object.

“About what, pray tell? You were staring pretty intensely. I think your gaze was melting a hole through my head,” Snart still had his smirk fixed firmly on his lips as he spoke, expression amused, but it had a sort of sharp curiosity in it.

It scared Barry.

It felt like the man knew exactly what he had been thinking and simply wanted it verbalized; it felt like an invasion of his thoughts even though he knew that Snart couldn’t do that—was pretty sure Snart couldn’t do that—right?

“Just about your balls,” Barry responded as disinterestedly as he could, but at the silence that fell over the table, he ran the words through his head again, his face flaming and he slammed it on the table with a groan, fork still held loosely in his fingers, meatball speared through on the end.

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Barry?” Snart drawled and Barry wished the floor would open up and swallow him.

He had zero talent with words.

“I meant your balls—I was talking about your meat. I meant—they don’t look like balls of meat. Your meatballs don’t look like meat—oh my god, someone just stop me.”

“Why, it’s just getting good,” Hartley teased and he heard a small snort coming from the end of the table and when he raised his head, it was to see Snart’s eyebrow raised, eyes twinkling with mirth, his lips pressed tight together, though the corners were twitched upwards just slightly.

“Think about my balls often, do you, Barry?”

And the way his name rolled off Snart’s tongue was like sin.

“Someone just shoot me now.”

“Why would we do that, Scarlet? We’re just getting to know each other.”

He could hear the smirk in his voice.

He flushed harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Please feel free to leave me some kudos--comments are greatly appreciated!


	6. You Even Put A Label On The Labelmaker (No, I Didn't)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This a bit shorter than the other chapters, but school just started for me and I'm in a but of a slump. Sorry, everyone. I hope this chapter's okay despite that.

“You need to chill out, Scarlet,” Snart implored and Barry could feel his anger spiking, eyes narrowing.

“ _I_ need to chill? You just completely took over what I was doing!”

Snart looked at him; his expression was deadpan like Barry was being ridiculous. “You were putting things in the wrong places. I’m only helping out.”

Gaping at the man, Barry threw his hands up in the air, little out a high pitched groan mixed with a scream, turning his eyes skywards.

It was not a big deal if a few things were in the wrong places. He didn’t understand why Snart had to, quite literally, shove him out of the way and take over putting the dishes away.

“Fucking infuriating,” Barry grumbled, spinning on his heel and storming out of the kitchen, steps loud in the otherwise quiet house. It was just him and Snart there, Hartley having gone in to town to get some groceries at Snart’s request.

Cisco was outside with Mick and Isaiah, watching them figure how their powers matched and differed and how they reacted to each other.

Snart had been cleaning the house, which was the main reason no one was in the house. The man had practically kicked everyone out in order to clean because everyone kept making everything dirty.

The man cleaned in an almost neurotic fashion, though, making sure everything was right where he found it.

But what was the guy’s problem?

Barry had been just trying to help.

Muttering expletives under his breath, he threw himself down onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling with a heavy scowl on his face, irritation coursing through his veins, making him twitchy and even more annoyed than he already was.

Grumbling as he rolled over onto his side, staring out the window to the outdoors, to the trees and open land. Pushing himself to sit up, he stared at the glass, at the world beyond it.

He should go for a run; burn off the extra energy. Maybe he could calmly talk to Snart, then, and maybe apologize for snapping at him for trying to help, and maybe get an apology in return because it was just plain rude to shove people.

Deciding that it was a suitably good plan, he shoved himself to his feet and sped out the door, down the stairs and out the main entrance, taking off into the trees.

The air whipped by him, he couldn’t even register the feeling, his heart pumping erratically inside his chest at a speed far too quick to be normal. He could feel the pressure of the ground underneath his feet, could practically hear the sound of his own breath pushing out of him; he could feel every separate muscle tense and release with the movements.

It had been too long since he had last gone on a good run, a nice long one with no one in sight, where he could let loose and run as much as he could—though definitely not as a fast because he did not want to end up time traveling—that shit was dangerous.

The urge to close his eyes was strong, but Barry forced himself to keep them open as he sped around trees. He remembered the last time he closed his eyes while running. He had smacked straight into the side of Joe’s house and the man had spent five minutes laughing in the kitchen while Barry held a bag of peas to his nose while glaring petulantly.

It was freeing, though—being able to run about like this. It was like nothing in the world could stop him, nothing could catch him. He was free to do what he wanted—for the next hour or so, at least—and he enjoyed every second of it.

 

 

 

 

“Cisco, can you please stop with that?” Barry whined, burying his face further into his pillow, arms wrapped tightly around it as he muttered expletives about a certain blue eyed man with a knack for pissing him off. Why did that guy have to get so mad about a couple of plates?

A run certainly hadn’t helped his mood and it remained just as sour as when he left. When he had come back from his run, it was to see that every aspect of the house had been clean with a military like precision. But that hadn’t been what made his bad mood return. What made his sour mood flare up again was that upon entering the kitchen for water, he found every cupboard and drawer labeled with where everything was—apparently—supposed to go.

It was just plates. So, he had put them in the wrong place? Why did Snart have to get all up in his face about it, acting like he did it on purpose?

“Seriously, though, Barry—there’s so much tension between you two that we’re playing limbo around the house because you need a jackhammer to cut through it,” Cisco groaned, sounding so wholly frustrated with him that Barry turned his face to the side to look at him to see him sitting up and his own bed, arms crossed and glaring at Barry.

“There is no tension, Cisco!” He found himself shouting, a heavy frown on his face as he sat up to cross his own arms indignantly over his chest, though his cheeks admittedly felt a bit warmer.

The male rolled his eyes, pushing himself to stand up and march to the door. “You better think long and hard about your feelings for this guy, Barry Allen, because I am not drowning in this ocean of UST for the next two and a half months, okay?” And then he was gone, slamming the door loudly shut behind him, leaving Barry blinking dumbly at the door, the whole altercation safely recorded on camera.

 

 

 

 

“You didn’t have to take it so far,” Mick grumbled and watched as Leonard sighed from his spot on the couch, letting his book flip shut with a fingers marking the page he was on.

“I didn’t.”

“You labeled the entire kitchen,” he found himself pointing out and watched how Leonard’s expression darkened, how his fingers tightened their hold on the book almost imperceptibly. It was mildly frightening how good he’d gotten at reading Leonard in the short time they had known each other, but he had found out rather easily that while Snart was a private person, he also wasn’t at the same time.

It was an odd sort of anomaly that didn’t make sense, but did.

Leonard sighed once more and Mick reached over, patting the man’s leg lightly in sympathy.

“You move Hart’s stuff?”

Len nodded his head, seeming to sink into the couch cushions further like he wanted them to swallow him up or something, a sentiment Mick could relate to.

“Stop thinking about it,” Mick grunted and Leonard glared at him, picking up his book with a grumbled ‘you started it’ before he fell silent once more.

 

 

 

 

There was a war raging in his mind and he wanted to rake his nail across his scalp, wanted to scream so that maybe it would stop for just a moment. Memories were assaulting his brain from all angles, always were, but they had been worse recently.

Despite it having been years since he had been under the heel of his father’s boot, or felt the pound of a strong fist colliding with his body, he still couldn’t help the habits that had been born from living with the man.

A plate out of place, a simple cup in the wrong cupboard of the two that housed them would result in a beating and a shattered beer bottle to some body part.

And little Lisa would be hiding at the top of the stairs, only scurrying into the safety of their room when his father’s footsteps moved to the staircase.

Maybe his actions had been rude towards Barry, though. He hadn’t meant to shove the male out of the way. His immediate reaction was to correct, to avoid the beating that would result. He was used to doing the same thing with Lisa. But he was no longer with him, in that house.

Seeing those plates being moved to the wrong place, though, inspired an itch in the back of his brain, one he couldn’t scratch. It sent a twitch through his muscles and before he knew it, he had been across the room and shoving Barry out of the way.

He winced internally at the memory again.

His head lifted slightly as he heard the crunching of gravel under tires as the car pulled up. “Piper’s back with the groceries,” he muttered. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he grumpily shut his book, shoving his feet into Mick’s thigh in retaliation for totally not helping his thoughts as he moved to stand.

Leaving his book next to Mick, he walked outside to meet Hartley who was clambering out of the driver’s side.

“Piper!” he called, watching how Hartley’s head snapped over, his hand twitching like an involuntary reflex, the way fear was painted on his face for just the brief second before he noticed it was only Leonard.

He filed the information away for later.

He knew that look, knew what it felt like to wear it on his own face.

“Len,” Hartley greeted with a smile stretching upon his lips. He moved to the back of the car, opening the trunk to begin grabbing the grocery bags. “Care to help?”

“Why do you think I’m out here?”

Moving closer, he accepted the bags Hartley handed to him. “You didn’t run into any trouble, right?” he asked, being as nonchalant as possible, ignoring the cameraman that was silently hovering nearby and filming their interaction.

It was a good thing the guy was easy to ignore.

They both knew the depth of the question, though. Having the abilities they did, now being displayed in the public eye, the fact that they had to wander around with a cameraman, it provided challenges.

And their safety was potentially at stake every time they left the house—even in the house.

“No, it was pretty smooth sailing, though the guy selling fruit gave me some trouble because I kept asking questions about the apples.” Hartley rolled his eyes in annoyance. “It’s not my fault I can’t tell the difference between a red apple and another red apple. They all look the same.”

Leonard snorted, shaking his head. “Boy genius and yet it’s produce that stumps you.”

“Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. If you guys have any ideas you might want to see happen, let me know and I'll see what I can do. I could use a little help.
> 
> As always, kudos are much loved. I love comments, too, so please don't be scared and leave one down below. They make my day.


	7. Boys Like Boys Like Girls Like Boys (It's A Thing)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know where this chapter came from. I had been craving some hurt/comfort and so this happened. The next task is coming soon (tasks courtesy of the beautiful Ellie who has once more come to my aid for this story; what would I do with out her? <3)
> 
> Also, huge thanks to MuseOfDance13 (I hope I got that right) for helping me figure out the notes thing. You're darling!
> 
> Apologies and explanations at the end of the chapter.

“Why do boys like girls?”

A soft smile graced pink lips. “Because girls are beautiful and sweet and they’ll love you with all their heart.

“Oh.”

He didn’t understand. None of the girls in his class were like that. They definitely weren’t beautiful; most of them looked the same. And they were far too whiny to be considered sweet—their actions didn’t even get close to the sweetness of the ice cream the cooks made.

And none of them loved him with all their heart.

They pushed him in the dirt and would cry if he pulled on their pigtails in retaliation. They would knock off his glasses and wail like banshees if he shouted at them.

Mommy and daddy didn’t do that—as far as he had seen, at least.

Maybe there was something wrong with him.

Or maybe there was something wrong with everyone else and he was the ‘supreme being’. He liked the sound of that. It would make playing pretend so much better. The butlers already called him sir. Supreme Being wouldn’t be that far of a stretch when they played.

It was only in later years that eh determined why he didn’t like the girls in his classes.

“They’re irritating,” he grumbled to his father as the man scowled at him over his paperwork. Hartley scrawled the answer to his homework down quickly, pencil moving rapidly over the page even while he listened to his father.

“You have to get married eventually, Hart. Might as well at least date one before marriage,” his father stated and Hartley looked at him over the rim of his glasses, eyes narrowed.

“No, thanks,” he muttered, gathering his papers in his hands and stalking out of the room.

Date a girl? Please. As if he would date one of those whiny creatures with their pliable chests. What a disconcerting feeling, he thought, distressed. He didn’t want to date one or marry one. He was rather happy with staying single for the time being and for the foreseeable future.

 

 

 

“Get out! Get out! Don’t you dare come back, you hear me? No son of mine will be gay. Do you hear me, Hartley?”

 

 

 

“Hartley,” a voice shouted, but he couldn’t reach it, couldn’t distinguish where it was from. “Hart,” the voice came again, but the arms of sleep held him too tight, kept him pinned in the dark, listening to the echoes of his father’s screams. “Piper, get up!”

His eyes shot open and he lunged up against the strong arms holding him down, pressing him down into the damp sheets. Why were they damp?

He could hear the echoes of his father’s yells, the burning glare of his mother, the hateful words spit at him as the staff looked on sadly, unable to go against their employers lest they lose their jobs.

Blue eyes swum into his vision accompanied by a concerned expression and tightly pursed lips.

“Dream,” he muttered, voice tilting high into a question, an inquiry as he was let up, shifting to sit with a quiet groan.

“More of a nightmare, but yeah,” Leonard muttered, sitting back on his heels where he was knelt on the bed. “I wouldn’t have woken you up, but it seemed bad.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, shooting Leonard a weak, shaky smile as he ran his fingers through his hair, feeling the soft strands matted down by sweat, felt the coolness of Leonard’s presence cool the liquid and send a shiver down his spine.

“Go shower,” Leonard murmured, standing up with a small nod at Hartley, still looking concerned, but more relieved now that he was awake, “it’s almost time to get up, anyway.”

Hartley nodded, looking down at his bed sheets, his fingers twisting the already twisted fabric in their grasp.

“You can talk to me, if you need to,” Leonard commented as he went over to his bed. He looked freshly showered and awake.

Hartley couldn’t help but smile, one more solid and genuine than the first.

 

 

 

Mick couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow as he watched Leonard stare at the side of his water bottle, once again having trailed off in the middle of a sentence, his gaze focused, yet distant.

“You awake, Len?”

The man blinked, fixing his gaze on him and there was the same sharpness in his gaze as there was the first time Mick had seen him, but it softened slightly, calming the sudden burst of apprehension that sparked inside of Mick.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, fingers rubbing over the label of the water bottle as he rolled it in between his hands, gaze transfixed now on the lid, lips pursed tight. “I’m just thinking.”

“Well, you’re awfully spacey when you’re thinkin’. Maybe you should stop for a bit,” Mick muttered, gulping down another gulp of his coffee, his third cup, he guessed. He wasn’t sure. He hadn’t slept well the entire night; constantly waking up to check and make sure that Leonard was still in his room and not on the roof.

Thankfully, Leonard hadn’t gotten to the roof, but Mick remembered seeing the man lying perfectly still on the bed, like a dead man. He could barely see him breathe.

He missed the quiet of the room, though. Isaiah wasn’t a bad roommate, but the guy definitely was a deep sleeper and he rolled around in his bed a lot, a fact Mick noted every time he glanced over. Len was a stone and Isaiah was a tsunami, that’s how it worked.

And while Mick could get used to Isaiah, the soft sounds he made while sleeping oddly comforting, he couldn’t help but miss the silence he now knew would have existed should Leonard have actually managed to sleep in the room.

“What’re you thinkin’ ‘bout?”

“Piper,” Leonard muttered, finally opening his water and swallowing down the smallest of sips. “He had a nightmare last night. It seemed pretty bad.”

“He ain’t got a childhood like ours, Len. You don’ have to worry so much.”

“Something happened, though. You see it, too, don’t you?”

He sighed, rubbing his temples slightly as he set his mug down. “O’ course I see it, Len,” he muttered. He frowned, eyebrows pulling tight in the center in a perfect representation of how Leonard’s expression had been for the last half hour or so. “Whatever it is, though, he’s strong—like us. He’ll be fine.”

Leonard sighed and Mick watched the way his shoulders heaved and his fingers fell limp while still holding the bottle, eyes tracing the small droplets of condensation. “I know.”

 

 

 

 

“Hey, Len,” Hart called, squinted his eyes in the dark and saw Leonard slowly sit up, eyes scanning the room before fixating on Hartley’s upright form.

“What’s wrong?”

He shifted on the bed, rubbing his eyes in a futile attempt to get rid of the blurriness in the room, but without his glasses that was impossible to do. “What cause nightmares?” he finally asked, voice soft and meek, a mild tremor in the notes of his tone. He wasn’t sure, but he was pretty certain Leonard had his brow furrowed and his lips pursed.

“It’s different for everyone,” Leonard finally spoke, his voice a soothing drawl that calmed Hartley’s nerves. “Sometimes it’s stress, other times it’s grief. For some it’s simply bad memories.”

“What are yours about?”

He heard Leonard sigh, heard the rustling of bed sheets as the male shifted in his bed. “Bad memories, mainly,” he responded simply, and Hartley was pretty sure he shrugged. “Yours are, too, aren’t they?”

He stiffened, twisted the bed sheets in between his fingers with a small frown, lips pushing out in mimicry of a pout or a frown. He wasn’t really sure himself. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly.

“Best thing to do is remind yourself that they’re memories. You’re stronger than them.” Leonard stated and maybe it was the matter-of-fact tone or the fact that Leonard sounded so reassuring, like he had said the line before, whether to himself or someone else, but instantly felt himself relax. It was like the last vestiges of his nightmare that had been clinging to him got washed away.

“Thanks.”

Leonard simply hummed and Hartley watched his blurry figure lay down once more, heard the rustle of the bed sheets start up and then stop.

“If you ever need to talk, don’t hesitate. I’m not going to laugh.”

The words still rung in his ears and were reverberating in his heart as he laid down and let his eyes slip shut, letting sleep claim him once more.

 

 

 

“Well, don’t you look attractive this morning?”

“Shut up,” the male grumbled, ambling to the kitchen with heavy footsteps that sounded more like stomps than regular footfalls.

“Wow, Cisco,” Hartley commented over the rim of his mug, drawing in a long sip of his tea. “You’ve got a little something,” he made a vague motion towards Ramon’s head, “in your hair right there.”

The male grumbled, muttered something about stupid geniuses and it being too damn early for this as he attempted to yank the brush from his knotted hair and to no avail. Hartley snorted a laugh into is mug, pressing his lips tight together, but the corners of his lips still turned upwards as he clicked away on his keyboard.

“Oh, hardy-har-har, Rathaway; I doubt you’d be able to deal with long hair,” Cisco grumbled, sending a glare over at Hartley, but his glare was met by Mick’s narrowed eyes that seemed to spell death in fire out in a very graphic way.

“I don’t have the fashion style to pull that hair off,” Hartley stated simply.

“Coffee’s already in the pot, Ramon,” Mick grumbled, the words sounding pleasant, but just verging on threatening, like the man wanted Cisco out.

“Mick, what do you want for breakfast?” Snart called as he walked into the room, book opened in his hand—it was like the fifth one Cisco had seen him with, each time the book being different.

“Croissants,” the man responded and Cisco couldn’t help but heave a sigh of relief now that the glare was off of him.

“Piper, what do you want?”

“Apple sausages,” the male responded over the rim on his mug and Leonard nodded.

“Ramon?”

And the glare was back—he couldn’t help but straighten immediately; freezing where he was, sugar pouring into his coffee cup in a steady stream. “What?”

“Breakfast, what do you and Scarlet want?”

“Oh, um, pancakes?”

“Okay. Mick, you know what Isaiah wants?”

“’said he doesn’t care,” Mick grunted as he took a long pull of his coffee.

“Great. Ramon, you done there,” Leonard asked and Cisco jerked, setting down the sugar quickly.

“What, yeah, yeah, I’m done.”

He picked up his mug and a spoon, stirring away as he quickly moved to the kitchen island where Hartley was sitting. Watching Leonard get to work, he sighed, wishing Barry would finish his shower already and come downstairs—or Isaiah.

Taking a sip of his drink, he immediately spat it back out, Hartley’s laughter ringing in his ears as he looked down at his sugar drowned coffee in dismay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. I've been undergoing some serious family issues and haven't been able to muster up the will to write lately, but I hope to get back to the regular updating schedule, though I can't promise anything. You have my sincerest apologies.
> 
> Anyway, feel free to leave me some kudos and don't be afraid to comment your thoughts down below! All ideas are welcome, so if you have one, feel free to let me know. I could use some help.
> 
> Thank you all and see you, hopefully, next Tuesday!


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